


After the Fallout

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom!Cas, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracy, M/M, Major Character Injuries, Minor Character Death, Mutants, Nightmares, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, Smut, some body horror, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: Its been years since the nuclear catastrophe that decimated the world. From the moment Dean Winchester stepped foot on the surface again, he’s been running from mutant creatures that want to kill him.When will it end?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020





	After the Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was definitely a fun time to write. I honestly wish I'd been able to dig a little deeper into this world and create something much bigger.
> 
> Thanks to my Golden Bitches, as always, for encouraging me and stuff.
> 
> And a huge thank you to insominia for being an A++++++++ beta! 
> 
> Guys, you have _got_ to check out this amazing art and spread it all over the interwebs (with the proper credit, of course) because everyone needs to see it: [Art Post](https://bees0are0awesome.tumblr.com/post/614119235954819072/after-the-falloutart-for-dcrb-2020-fic-written)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the fic!

Dean drew back the string of the compound bow, taking a breath as he aimed, and breathing out as he released the arrow. Even from the second-story window of the dilapidated house they were holed up in, he heard the sickening thud and squelch as it lodged itself in the brainpan of the last creeper.

It was hard to believe those monstrosities had been human once. Now they were deformed, mindless mutants. No two looked alike, either. Some, like the one Dean had just killed, had skin that seemed to melt off their faces. Others had humanoid features--eyes, noses, cheekbones--but were covered in boils that leaked pus, leaving a trail of gross wherever they went.

The animals were just as bad. Deer with second heads that were nothing but exposed muscle and sinew. Dogs whose jaws opened the wrong way. Even the bugs were fucked up now.

And, of course, they were all out to kill Dean and company. It was like they were being targeted.

“Clear!” Dean shouted down the stairs after sweeping his eyes across every inch of outdoors he could see. He didn’t pack up the bow; he simply laid it on the floor at the window. It would be faster to get to if he needed it. Who the hell knew when another horde of those bastards would wander too close? He always had his handgun ready, but ammo was in short supply and he wouldn’t use it unless he absolutely had to.

When he made it down the stairs, Billie, Sam, and John were already breaking down furniture and throwing pieces of it in the brick fireplace on the far wall of the living room. It got real fucking cold at night, no matter how hot it was during the day. It was bad enough that Dean wasn’t sure what season it was. He hadn’t been sure what season it was since they woke in their cryogenic chambers three years ago.

John looked up at Dean, still sawing at what looked to be a particularly sturdy table leg with a small collapsible handsaw. “Glad we stumbled into a house that actually has a fireplace. Sun’ll be going down soon; see if you can get it going with what we’ve already got.” He nodded toward a small pile of wood.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked as he started rearranging the mess of shit his dad and brother had thrown haphazardly into the fireplace. No wonder neither of them could ever get a decent blaze going. 

Sam chucked another piece onto the pile and smiled when Dean turned toward him with a frown. “He, Abaddon, and Cain are setting the perimeter traps. They should be done soon.”

Dean just nodded and returned to his task. The temperature was already starting to drop. His skin prickled into goosebumps as he pulled a box of matches out of his jacket pocket. There were only three left, so he made a mental note to search the house for more before they moved on. He struck one against the side of the box and used it to light the pile of sawdust he’d managed under the bigger pieces of wood. It took some time, and a lot of encouragement, but the flame finally caught and he knew that soon enough it would be warm in the little room.

At least the cold nights meant they didn’t have to worry about creepers in their sleep. Damn things seemed to be cold-blooded. When the temperature got down too low, they couldn’t move. They weren’t the only danger out there, though.

Footsteps approached Dean, and instinctively, he knew it was Cas. After so long traveling with the same four people, you got to know what their footfalls sounded like. “Any food in this dump?” Dean asked without turning around.

“Some canned vegetables that were salvageable,” Cas replied. “If there’s anything else we haven’t found it yet.”

None of them talked much as they huddled together near the fire. The sun dipped below the horizon and even with the warmth of the flames, they shivered. The can of carrots Dean ate tasted like vinegar and aluminum, and it left him still hungry.

It had been a while since they’d had any food worth eating. Dean could still remember the taste of a juicy burger with cheese melting across it, though. He’d kill the fucking Queen of England for one of them given the opportunity.

In the relative silence, Dean took a moment to look around the house they’d stumbled into when they heard the creepers coming. It had probably been a typical suburban family home once, but now it was falling apart. Decaying along with the rest of the world. Faded wallpaper peeled away from the drywall beneath it and broken frames hung sporadically with what Dean assumed had once been family photos. John and Sam had chopped up most of the furniture in the living room so they could keep the fire going through the night. The only thing that was still in decent shape was the wood flooring.

It was covered in a layer of dust and grime, but if Dean rubbed it away, the lacquered planks still gleamed in the firelight. Weird that such a small thing could give him hope. He could think for a moment that maybe somewhere underneath what the world had become there was still a glimmer of beauty. They just had to find it.

A sudden shiver passed through Dean’s body and he pulled the thin blanket Cas had given him tighter around his shoulders. It brought him back to reality. The only thing left for them was the struggle to survive from one day to the next. And no matter what they did, even that was likely to end with getting ripped apart by one of those damned monstrosities. Or from hypothermia. Dean wasn’t sure which was more preferable at this point.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find some more blankets upstairs,” he announced to no one in particular. Standing, he instinctively checked his hip for his trusty 1911. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out a flashlight. He wandered through the house relatively aimlessly and checked closets along the way for any supplies that might be usable. There wasn’t much to be found and Dean wondered if it was because the family that had once lived here had packed their shit and fled to one of the government shelters, or if the house had already been picked through by some other group of survivors.

Neither was a particularly pleasant scenario.

The government shelters, they’d discovered shortly after coming topside, had been an utter disaster. It took an entire day to walk to Kansas City from Lawrence, and when they got there, they found the door to the shelter--which was supposed to be hermetically sealed--hanging from its hinges. The scene inside was horrific.

The cryogenic chambers had somehow failed. That was what Sam chose to believe, anyway. Dean was a mechanical engineer before the war had driven him below ground. He knew what sabotage looked like. Not to mention the fact that there was way too much blood in places it shouldn’t have been for it to have been a simple failure. The smell of rot and decay stayed with Dean even now, and it had been years since they moved on.

They were never meant to make it out. Dean wasn’t sure why, or what exactly happened, but he was certain that the people who died in the government shelter were murdered. Mom had been part of the team working on the project, and there had definitely been something going on in the weeks leading up to when people reported to the facility. He remembered a conversation he’d overheard between mom and another woman. Something about archangels and mistakes. 

It still left him with more questions than answers.

The fact that they’d spent three years running and being assaulted constantly by mutant creatures only seemed to lend credence to the idea that someone, or something, was after them. Sam would tell Dean he was just being paranoid, but Dean knew in his bones that something about this wasn’t right. Whoever the hell it was definitely didn’t seem to be interested in being found.

Not to mention it was difficult to pick up on clues when he was constantly running for his life. But Dean was sure someone knew more than he did. His dad, maybe. Or Billie. She was hard to read and definitely gave the impression that she was hiding something. But she always had their back. Cain and Abaddon, too. They were an odd pair. A doctor and nurse before the war, supposedly. But the skill Dean had seen from them didn’t come from a hospital.

Dean had made his way back into the upstairs bedroom where he’d left his bow. Swinging the beam of light around, it was clear this had been a kid’s room once. There was still a baseball bat leaning in a corner by the closet. A Louisville Slugger, just like the one Dean had when he was a kid. There were a few toys scattered across the floor; legos and matchbox cars, mostly. But the dresser was empty.

With a sigh, Dean sat down on the floor and leaned back against the bed frame. The mattress was falling apart; there were springs sticking out and several spots where there was clearly some filling missing. He pulled out a small piece of paper, yellowed with age and burnt down until only one corner remained, from his pocket. Under the beam of the flashlight, Dean saw exactly what he always did. An emblem. Large, feathered wings stretching upward until their tips touched with a halo nestled between them.

It was a clue, Dean was sure. Something to do with these “archangels” mom had mentioned. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe he should talk to Billie or John. Stupid paper certainly wasn’t going to help if he kept it tucked away in his pocket all the time. He couldn’t put the damn puzzle together with only two pieces.

"Dean?" Cas's voice came from the doorway. 

He must be slipping; Dean hadn't heard him coming. Quickly tucking the precious corner into one of his pockets, he turned to look at Cas, who was just outside the wash of light from the flashlight. Even in the dim glow, he could see that Cas looked haggard. He'd lost weight--they all had-- and he had a tattered blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair stuck up at odd angles and the shadow made him look gaunt. 

"Yeah, Cas, what's up?" Dean asked, his voice gruff. No reason Cas needed to know he was up here thinking about the good old days.

His companion shrugged. "Did you find anything?" It was a stupid question. Dean would have brought anything he found down to the group as soon as he found it. But it was what they did. They made excuses to end up alone together.

Dean shook his head and watched Cas as he came in and sat on the floor next to Dean. The sides of their bodies pressed together, and Cas wrapped his blanket as best he could around both of them.

"You're going to freeze up here, Dean," he offered. Another excuse. This time one to be close to each other, to touch. They needed the excuses. 

It wasn’t love, Dean told himself. This was no time for love. There was no place for something so pure in the shitshow their lives had become. He mumbled his thanks and spread his blanket across the front of them, cocooning them in the thin fabric. It was just enough to retain most of their shared body heat as they fell asleep leaning back against the bed frame of a child that was probably long dead.

* * *

_ The sirens were loud—almost deafening—as they woke Dean from a too long slumber. He tried to sit up in the darkness, only to realize he wasn’t in his bed.  _

_ He was in a tube. _

_ His heart skipped a beat and his hands pushed against the solid wall of chilled glass in front of him. Then he remembered.  _

_ The statis tubes. _

_ The war. _

_ Nuclear catastrophe. _

_ It did nothing to calm him, but at least Dean knew that beating on the glass wouldn’t do any good. He tried hard to slow his breathing. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments before the panel hissed and started to open, but it felt like an eternity. _

_ Was that what claustrophobia felt like? _

_ He stumbled out.  _

_ The lights were off. The sirens were so loud. _

_ Where was Sam? _

_ Lights were flashing now. Red lights, strobing in time with the wailing of the sirens. _

_ Rows of statis tubes. Were there that many before? Why were the sirens so fucking loud? _

_ Three tubes in the middle of a corridor. His family! _

_ Why weren’t they awake? _

_ He approached them slowly, unsteady on his feet. _

_ Broken glass. It cut into his heel. Blood. Too much to be his. _

_ Silence in the flashing strobe lights. _

_ A face, twisted in pain. Vacant eyes. So much blood. _

_ They were all there. Dead. Broken. Rotting.  _

_ Dad. Sam. Cas. _

_ Dean turned away. _

_ Blue eyes, bright in the shadows. Watching. _

_ White wings in a flash of light, reaching for the sky. _

_ A peal of cackling laughter. _

* * *

Dean woke with a strangled cry, struggling against the blankets that were wrapped tightly around him. His chest hurt, like an elephant was sitting on it. It was hard—impossible—to breathe. Tears ran down his face; he couldn’t stop them. His heart felt like it was going to explode. Cold fingers touched both sides of his face and Dean tried to jerk away, but the hands held him motionless.

“It’s just me, Dean,” Cas said softly. His voice was deep and gravelly, like he was still half asleep. “You’re having a panic attack. I need you to focus on me, Dean. Can you do that?”

He didn’t answer; he couldn’t answer. His breath was caught tight inside him as his throat seemed to close off all access to his lungs. But Dean tried to focus on the sound of Cas’s voice. The feeling of his hands against Dean’s cheeks. The way he smelled.

“Breathe with me,” Cas commanded as he rested his forehead against Dean’s. 

This close, Dean could see the blue even in the dark. 

_ Like the eyes in his dream. _

Not like the eyes in his dream. Different, less cold. More emotion in Cas’s gaze than in the ice blue eyes that stared from the shadows of his nightmares. He struggled to breathe with Cas, listening as the other man counted. He let the calm baritone of Cas’s voice wash over him, helping him ground himself a little more.

After a while when Dean’s breathing started to even out and get a little deeper, he let Cas’s voice drift to the back of his mind, focusing more on the way he smelled. His nostrils flared, filling with the not-so-pleasant odor of road grime and unwashed sweat, and underneath all of that something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on that was very distinctly Cas.

Cas was still talking, softly stroking his thumb across one of Dean’s cheeks, drying the tears that fell there. 

It felt like forever until Dean was calm enough to slump against Cas. He was weak, in more ways than one. The fatigue that spread through his muscles made him tremble slightly when he tried to move, but Cas wrapped strong arms around him and held him until the shivers stopped.

“Are you alright, Dean?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean lied. “I’m okay.” If he tried to bury himself further into Cas’s arms, neither of them said anything about it.

“You had the dream again?”

Dean nodded against his chest, but said nothing.

“You should talk to me about it. Maybe it will help. Maybe—”

“I don’t want to talk,” Dean said, cutting Cas off. Dean never wanted to talk. Talking didn’t change a damn thing, and it sure as hell didn’t make him feel better. The only thing that might make the nightmare stop coming was figuring out who had killed mom. Who was after them.

But Dean couldn’t do that right now, so he’d find something to distract himself with.

Dean let his hand drift down Cas’s torso, dipping low enough to cup his cock through the jeans he wore.

Cas bit off a low groan as Dean palmed him. “This is hardly the time, Dean. Sex won’t fix it.”

“Maybe not.” Dean moved so he was straddling Cas and they were forehead to forehead again. He touched a finger gently to Cas’s jaw. “But you— _ it _ —reminds me there’s still something to live for.”

The sky was getting lighter, the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon. In the dim light, Dean could see Cas looking up at him intently, like he was trying to read him, trying to pick up on something under the surface. There was nothing to pick up on, of course, Dean reminded himself, but he waited. He’d made his intentions clear, but if Cas didn’t want this right now, Dean would let it go.

Instead, Cas gripped Dean’s shirt in both fists, pulling him down hard so their lips crashed together roughly. It was a harsh kiss, all teeth and tongue, so intense it was almost painful.

Dean reveled in it, a shameless moan on his lips, and ground down against Cas. The heated touch of Cas’s hands and the friction of their bodies made Dean’s dick swell and press against the fabric of his jeans. He broke the kiss, biting and licking his way across Cas’s jaw and down his neck.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean growled against his skin. “Wanna be inside you. Feel you clenching around me.” He let his teeth scrape against a collarbone, freshly exposed by Dean’s deft fingers unbuttoning a shirt.

Cas’s hips moved with Dean’s, their hard cocks grinding together as Cas dug his fingers painfully into the soft flesh just above Dean’s hips. “Fuck me, Dean,” he demanded, his voice a low gravel of need that was more than enough to send Dean into a frenzy.

His fingers fumbled, but Dean managed to unzip his jeans to free his dick as Cas shimmied his own pants and boxers down over his hips.

Neither of them took their pants off all the way, they were too frantic and it was far too cold, though Dean hardly noticed. He dug into one of the pockets of his jacket, bringing a small, nearly empty jar of Vaseline out and snapping the lid open.

Dean leaned back coating his cock in what was left of the thick substance, then pushed Cas back against the bed frame, bringing his legs up to give himself access. It was impossible to see. It was dark, and Cas’s pants bunched at his lower thigh, blocking any view below. Dean had to feel his way around, and he sighed in relief when he finally pressed the head of his dick past the tight ring of muscle.

The position was awkward, uncomfortable and unwieldy but Dean didn’t care, he pushed forward, crushing Cas’s thighs to his chest and catching his lips, devouring the deep groan as it escaped from Cas’s throat.

When Dean had buried himself to the hilt, Cas’s hand traveled up his back and to the back of his head. Dean gasped at the sharp pain in his scalp as Cas yanked his head back by a fistful of short hair.

Cas’s blue eyes were dark with lust and need. “I said fuck me.”

With a low rumble of a groan in his chest, Dean pulled back and slammed into Cas. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping harshly against skin, the bedframe rocked noisily with every thrust, and Cas cried out without shame.

It didn’t last long enough. The tight heat of Cas clenched around Dean as hot come spilled and spurted over their shirts. Dean followed him almost immediately, pulsing and throbbing, and Dean leaned against Cas for a long moment as he tried to catch his breath.

It was too much. Every time. And never enough.

They didn’t speak again, just cleaned up as best they could and pulled their clothes back on properly before wrapping the blankets around themselves again and falling asleep.

* * *

“We’ve already been here for too long,” John told Sam, his tone leaving no room at all for argument. “We need to move on or they will catch up to us.”

Billie and the others stood off to one side, all quiet and just watching. When Sam and his father fought, it was never a good idea for anyone other than Dean to interfere.

Sam was clearly pissed. His face was red with anger and his hands shook with it. “For fuck’s sake, Dad, we don’t even know who ‘they’ are! How do you even know ‘they’ are chasing us?”

“You’re too smart to ask such a stupid fucking question, son!” John’s ire matched Sam’s, maybe even surpassed it. “How many times have we almost died because groups of creepers just suddenly appeared. They ain’t that bright, they didn’t find us on their own every fucking time.” 

“You’re so fucking paranoid! You think we’re the only ones running into random creepers? I sincerely doubt it.”

“And you are too goddamn busy wishing you had a normal life to see the truth!”

Dean stepped closer and put a hand on his brother’s arm. “I hate to say it, Sam, but Dad’s right. Look, just because we don’t know who’s chasing us doesn’t mean we aren’t being hunted. What happened at that shelter and the other ones we’ve come across wasn’t an accident. Someone wanted those people dead. Someone wanted Mom dead. And it stands to reason they’d want us dead, too.” 

Ripping his arm out of Dean’s grasp, Sam sneered at him. “You’re just like him. So paranoid you can’t stop looking over your shoulder for five minutes to see you’ve got something good right in front of you.” His eyes flicked over to Cas and he shook his head. “Whatever, let’s just go.”

Sam stormed out of the room.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s get ready to go.”

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Dean asked. The others had started filing out of the kitchen, Billie trailing a little behind everyone else.

“Yeah, what is it?” John asked, his tone entirely different from when he’d just been talking to Sam. Dean would never understand how he could just turn that anger off.

Dean was second-guessing himself. But Sam was right about one thing. He didn’t know who ‘they’ were. Or why they were after the Winchesters. And if Dean didn’t figure it out, they’d never be able to stop running. He fingered the old paper in his pocket. 

“Do you remember mom ever talking about something or someone called “the archangels?”

John looked carefully at Dean, his face an unreadable mask. “Once or twice. Not sure what it means, though. Why?”

Shaking his head, Dean sighed. He couldn’t tell if his father was being honest or not. “Nothing. I’m just tired of all the running, Dad. I thought if we could figure out who is chasing us, we’d have a better chance of finally stopping.”

His eyes flicked to Billie as he turned to leave the room and Dean saw the unmistakable spark of recognition. She knew something about the archangels. It was just a matter of figuring out what.

* * *

A few hours later, they were on the road again. John was driving with Dean sitting shotgun. Cas was asleep against the window next to Cain in the backseat. Sam, wanting to be as far away as he could get from Dean and John, had decided to sit in the bed of the truck with the girls. The restructuring had taken some doing, but they’d managed to build something resembling a cage. The space between the bars was wide enough that they could shoot out of it, but not so wide that a creeper could make its way in.

The landscape seemed completely unchanging. No matter how long they drove for or in what direction, the land was barren and the air was hot and dry. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen rain. 

One more thing to miss about the way things used to be.

There was nothing to do but stare at the dried out, dead land passing by his window and keep an eye out for anything else that might be dangerous.

The hours dragged by slowly and eventually Dean nodded off into a restless, but thankfully dreamless, sleep.

* * *

Either his father’s stream of curses or the truck engine dying as it lurched and rolled to a stop woke Dean. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, blinking away the blur of sleep. “Why are we stopping?” 

“The tank is empty,” Cas said from the back seat in his usual calm voice. How he and Cain managed to keep their composure like that, Dean would never understand. 

“We’re gonna have to leave the truck here and find somewhere to hunker down. Hopefully somewhere with propane.” John opened his door and climbed out of the truck, slamming it behind him. 

The rest of the group followed suit and loaded down with the meager supplies they had; they set off across the desert.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time they found a place. An old convenience store with broken windows. It was hard to tell if the damage had been done by creepers or by looters, but for the first time in a while, they hadn’t seen a single mutated creature as they traveled on foot. 

It only made Dean more paranoid. There should at least be a creeper here and there. Wandering. Looking for their next meal. What did they eat when there were no people around? Did they even need food? Questions Dean had been asking for years now. It was hard to get answers when they killed every creeper they were unlucky enough to come across.

Their weapons were still drawn as they searched the store, making sure it was clear before they settled in for the night. The shelves inside were mostly empty, covered in a thick caked layer of dust and grime, as was the countertop. The register had toppled over onto the floor, and lay there open and empty. All in all, the place looked like shit. It was at least as bad as the outside. But with some luck and a few well-placed traps, they’d be safe enough for a night.

It was too dark to look for more propane now, they’d have to wait until morning. Most of them were already digging out blankets and spare jackets while Cas and Cain set their usual traps. It was unlikely they’d be attacked in the middle of the night, but they couldn’t be too careful. At least this way, they’d have warning.

Dean watched as Billie made her way over to him. “Hey. What’s up?” he asked. Now that he was completely sure she knew more than she let on, Dean was guarded.

“We need to talk,” she said, jerking her head toward the back of the store. A spot where they would be alone. Then she walked away.

After a very short moment of hesitation, Dean followed her. He stood a foot away from her and she eyed him carefully. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“How do you know about the archangels?” she asked. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she spoke in hushed tones, making sure no one else would hear her.

Dean shrugged. “Does it really matter how I know?”

“I guess not.” She was almost as hard to read as his dad. It was like they’d both spent their lives protecting their thoughts from unwanted exposure. The only thing that was obvious to Dean was that Billie was being incredibly defensive.

“Tell me what you know.”

She sighed. “It’s not much. The archangels were a group of scientists before the war. They were radicals, interested in spurring humanity’s next major step in evolution.” She hesitated for a moment, as if she was unsure as to whether she should even be telling Dean any of this. “There were rumors they were elbow deep in the shelter projects. They were dangerous then, and if any of them are still around, they’re dangerous now.”

Dean took a moment to process that information. He was sure they were still around. He had no doubt that the archangels were the ‘they’ that kept him and his family running. “Why would they be after us?”

“I don’t know,” Billie replied. She shook her head, dark curls shaking and falling over her shoulders again. “But if they are, we’re better off running.”

“Hey, Bill!” Abaddon’s voice carried across the store. “Get over here and give me a hand with this.” 

Dean watched Billie walk away and then headed over to Sam and Cas to help them finish setting up the trap they were working on.

They all huddled together near the counter and with the flashlights off, no one could see a damned thing. Dean felt Cas scoot up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling so that he was settled snugly between Cas’s thighs and his back was against Cas’s chest.

Cas draped his blanket over both of them.

Neither of them spoke.

* * *

_ Flashing red. _

_ Silence. _

_ Blood. Pooled and splattered. Everywhere. _

_ Laughter.  _

_ Mom. Her eyes wide in fear. Broken. _

_ Shards of glass. They cut into Dean’s feet. _

_ His blood mixed with the stains on the floor. _

_ Blue. Piercing blue eyes. Cold as ice. _

_ “Just give in, Dean.” _

_ His head whipped around, trying to find the source of the disembodied voice.  _

_ Bodies everywhere. _

_ Sam. Cas. Dad. Covered in blood. _

_ Cain. Abaddon. Billie. Torn apart. _

_ Limbs feet away from their bodies. _

_ “They’ll all die, Dean.”  _

_ A woman’s voice. Familiar. Who was it? _

_ Piercing blue eyes, inches away from his. No face. Only the eyes appearing in the darkness. _

_ “It’ll be all your fault.” _

_ He shook his head, tried to speak. There was no sound. _

_ More laughter. “Just give in.” _

* * *

_ CRASH _

Dean woke with a start, immediately grabbing for the 1911 at his hip. He could feel the others moving around him, but he still couldn’t see shit. It was pitch black and freezing. The nightmare lingered in the back of his mind, making his hands shake. He pushed it away. No time for that now.

The crash had happened inside the convenience store, though. Dean was damn sure of that.

With his pistol in his hand, Dean quietly made his way across the floor toward the back door, where he knew there should be a tripwire. When his fingers found the line, it was limp on the floor. 

Someone had disarmed the trap.

“Fuck!” Sam’s voice came from behind him. Followed by a gurgling roar and the thud of an impact.

_ “They’ll all die.” _

Dean scrambled toward the sound, still unable to see much of anything.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“I can’t fucking see!”

“Where the fuck is it?”

They were all whispers, but Dean heard them just as clearly as if they had been screams.

A growl emanated from the darkness and then the cylindrical beam of a flashlight illuminated the small store. It only lasted a moment before Dean saw a massive hand swing toward. Whatever the thing was hit Cas so hard it lifted him off the ground, sending him backward through the air and into a shelving unit with a cut off scream. The flashlight clattered to the floor and rolled, the light sweeping across the room until it came to a stop.

“Cas!” Dean called out before he had the sense to stop himself. There was no response.

The trajectory of the beam had given Dean a pretty good idea of where everyone was. Except whatever had thrown Cas across the room. Other than the massive hand and arm, Dean hadn’t caught sight of it at all.

All at once, the air was knocked from his lungs. Dean couldn’t breathe and when his back hit a wall, his head snapped forward, chin connecting with his chest and it was pure luck he didn’t bite off his tongue. There was a sharp pain in his chest as he tried to take a breath and he was sure that he had a few broken ribs. He spit blood from his mouth.

_ “Just give in, Dean.” _

It took a minute for him to come back to his senses enough to realize the broken, pained moan he heard was his own. 

Someone had picked up the flashlight, Dean wasn’t sure who and was swinging it back and forth, looking for their attacker. Sam was on his feet, but when the light passed over Cas, he seemed to be unconscious, something dark coating the side of his face.

The light landed on something hideous then. Thick, bulbous legs partially covered in tattered fabric that probably used to be pants. The torso was wide and heavily muscled, dark veins bulging beneath discolored skin. It was humanoid, but nothing like the creepers they were used to seeing. 

For one, it was so tall, Dean could barely see its head in the wash of the flashlight’s glow. What he could see was horrifying. The jaw was long and low, it’s bared teeth came to sharp points. When the light hit its eyes, it let out a blood curdling screech, the bottom jaw dropping and splitting in the middle to open both ways and reveal more lines of predatory teeth. The eyes themselves were almost solid white, but it was clear the creature wasn’t blind as it lashed out again.

Abaddon was quick enough to dodge out of the way, but Billie was knocked off her feet and back into the darkness. Everyone was screaming at each other, questions and orders. It was a cacophony of terror as it washed over Dean’s ears.

_ Cold, dark laughter. _

Then he heard the first shot. The boom of his father’s shotgun. In the light, Dean saw as it impacted with the creature’s side, sending a spray of dark blood from it, but seeming otherwise unaffected as it turned to attack John.

Dean spurred himself into action, bringing the 1911 up in front of him and firing repeatedly into the creature’s back. The impact of each bullet shook its body only slightly and the monster didn’t stray from its path. The beam of the flashlight followed it and Dean saw as it reached out in front of it, grabbing John with both hands and lifting him off the ground.

Dean was out of ammo. His spare was in his backpack and there was no way he’d get to it in time. 

_ Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. _

Automatic gunfire rang through the store, and it seemed to surprise the monstrosity. John was released, falling the short distance to the floor and he picked up his shotgun again. 

Bullets were flying, embedding themselves in the flesh of the oversized thing, from every direction. Riddled with holes, the creature still kept to its feet as the last boom rang out. By that time, Dean had gotten to his backpack and pulled out his spare magazine.

As he pushed it into the pistol, Dean watched as the creature lurched toward John again, but it stumbled. One step, then another. Then all at once it crashed to the floor. It twitched sporadically.

Dean ran over to Cas immediately, not bothering with their apparently dead attacker. “Cas? Buddy?” he murmured as he dropped to his knees next to Cas’s unconscious form. His arms hung at his sides, resting limply against the floor with a rivulet of blood running across his forearm. Dean hovered a hand over Cas’s mouth and nose until he felt the steady breaths, hot against his fingers. 

“Oh, thank God,” Dean muttered under his breath as he gently slapped Cas’s face a few times until he saw his eyes open. 

Cas groaned in pain and looked up at Dean. “What the fuck happened?”

Dean shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

_ “You’re killing them, Dean.” _

* * *

None of them spoke for a while as they moved on from the convenience store, shivering in the pre-dawn cold. Dean half-carried Cas, ignoring the pain that shot through his torso whenever he took a step or a breath. It had still been the middle of the night when they were attacked, but they could see the slow color change in the sky that indicated the rise of the sun. 

“Dean,” Cas said softly, low enough that no one else could hear. “What’s wrong?”

Of course Cas knew something was up. He always knew. “Aside from the obvious?” Dean asked.

Cas just nodded. His face was barely visible in the early morning light. He was grimacing with the pain of each step. “This is something new. Something deeper that’s bothering you.”

Dean’s eyes flicked around to the rest of the group. No one seemed to be paying their conversation any attention. “It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“Crazy has long since become the order of the day, Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean tightened his arm around Cas’s weight and winced at the sharp pain in his ribs. “This is a different kind of crazy. I had another nightmare last night. But… it was different. New. It’s always been the same, but this time…”

Cas’s voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t think you’re crazy. Probably.”

Despite everything that was going on, it made Dean smile. “I think it was more than just a dream. I know that sounds insane. But I feel it in my blood, Cas. These people, the archangels or whatever? They aren’t after us. They’re after me.”

He braced himself for Cas’s response. It was crazy. Dean knew it was. He couldn’t explain it. There was no way for him to explain that  _ she _ spoke to him even after he’d woken up. Her voice lingered in the back of his mind even now. He didn’t even know who she was.

“Why would they be after you?” Cas asked.

Dean looked over at him, surprised. “You believe me?”

Cas nodded. “The world has changed enough that nothing seems unbelievable anymore. Especially not from you. So, why would they be after you?”

“I don’t know. But they’ll kill all of you to get to me.”

The temperature rose rapidly, and before long sweat poured from Dean’s forehead. He didn’t know where they were, but there didn’t seem to be anything in sight. Cas was injured, so was Sam. Dean didn’t tell anyone about his ribs.

They were sitting ducks.

“What’s that?” Sam pointed ahead of them to a dark spot in the distance. No one commented on how his hand shook or the way he limped along next to Cain. 

“Don’t know. Could be shelter. We should head that way,” John replied gruffly.

It took another hour or so to get close to it. They were moving slowly and the longer they were out in the open, the more uncomfortable Dean got.

The dark spot turned out to be a half-rusted, abandoned train car. Dean’s anxiety skyrocketed. It was out of place. It was by itself in the middle of a mostly barren area. There were a few scattered trees, but nothing indicating that the train car belonged there. No tracks. No other train cars. No buildings.

His suspicion kept his eyes sharp, and it was a good thing because as they approached the abandoned train car the dark spot had turned out to be, he saw a creeper moving around it toward them.

Then another.

Three more behind it.

A horde of the damn things, and they were less than fifty yards off.

Too many to count.

_ “Just let us take you.” _

“Creepers!” Dean cried out, shrugging Cas off of his shoulder and taking his bow in his hand.

The others were pulling their weapons and firing as rapidly as they could at the moving herd. Four of them fell, but there were too many to count behind them. Dean fired arrow after arrow, barely taking the time to aim.

_ “It’ll be your fault.” _

There didn’t seem to be an end to the stream of mutants. They just kept coming. 

The group stuck close together as they took down as many of the horde as they could at a distance, but there were fifteen or so creepers that got close enough that Cain had to pull his blade. Dean used his body to protect Cas as they cut down the rest of them.

“You see any more?” Dean asked, looking around after the last creeper had fallen to the ground.

“Looks clear. We should get inside.” Billie replied.

Picking Cas up from the ground where he’d fallen, Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and quickly headed for the train car.

It looked like an old dining car. It was long and the tables were still relatively intact. It was slightly tilted like it had fallen off a track, and when Dean looked out one of the windows, there wasn’t much to see. He couldn’t even tell where all those creepers had come from.

They all made it in and Abaddon immediately set to looking at the gash on Sam’s arm, cleaning and bandaging it. Dean did the same for Cas.

“How you feeling, Cas?” he asked as he cleaned the wound on Cas’s forehead. 

Cas winced. “A little woozy, but I’m fine. What about you, Dean?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Dean, you might be good at hiding it from the others, but you can’t hide it from me. I know what pain looks like on you.” Cas slapped Dean’s hand away and forced him to meet his eyes.

“I cracked a couple of ribs. I’ll be fine.” Dean forced a smile and went back to tending to Cas’s wounds.

Cas shook his head. “There’s more. Not just what you were telling me earlier, either.”

Dean stopped what he was doing and looked straight into Cas’s blue eyes. “I, uh, thought for a second that I lost you back there.” His eyes burned and he blinked a few times and looked away. “I don’t… I can’t…” 

Warm fingers intertwined with Dean’s, and Cas squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’m still here. You’re still here. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“Yeah.” Dean went back to patching Cas up wordlessly. He played the events of the last couple of days in his mind. He had to tell them. He had to tell someone.

They settled in, taking a few minutes to relax. It didn’t last, at least not for Dean. Almost as soon as he didn’t have something to do with his hands, his brain provided him with a picture of Cas bleeding and unconscious in the convenience store.

It was his fault, and he couldn’t let it happen again. Not to Cas. Not to any of them. Dean looked around at the rest of them, all taking a moment to catch their breath.

Sam sat on the floor, leaning back against one of the walls. John and Abaddon stayed by the door, guns propped up on their legs. Cain was on top of a table with his shoes off, rubbing at his feet, and Billie was in a chair beside him.

These people were Dean’s family. He wouldn’t be responsible for their deaths. He stood up and double checked the gun at his hip before heading over to his dad.

“What’s going on, son?” John asked.

“I need to talk to you. Alone.” Dean’s eyes shifted across the rest of the group again.

John stared at him hard and then nodded. “Watch the door, Abby.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She picked up her gun and leaned against the open doorway after Dean and his dad passed through it and out into the wasteland before them.

* * *

“What’s this about, Dean?” John stopped walking and turned to face him as soon as they were out of earshot of the others.

Dean fingered the paper in his pocket again before gripping it and pulling it out. “The archangels, Dad. I asked you about them before. I can’t really explain, but I’m sure it’s them chasing us.” For the first time since he’d found it, Dean showed the little burnt corner of paper to someone else.

John’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Dean, where did you get that?”

“You remember a couple of years ago we holed up at Uncle Bobby’s junkyard?” Dean waited for John to nod before continuing. “I picked through what was left of the house while we were there. I saw this and something told me to take it.”

“You were never supposed to know, Dean,” John said softly. He reached over and plucked the little paper from Dean’s fingers.

“So you’ve known this whole goddamn time.” Dean shook his head. “You should have told me. All this chasing they’ve been doing? I think it’s me they’re after.”

John just nodded. “I know. Your mom knew they would come for you. Before we went into the shelters, I promised her that no matter what happened, I would keep you safe.”

“Yeah, well you’re doing a pisspoor job of it. I’m not safe! None of us are safe. We won’t be until we make them stop.”

* * *

Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning back against one of the train car’s walls and sleeping while Dean sat at another table with Cas and played cards. Everyone had claimed some part of the train car as their own. Abaddon stood outside, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette by an open window.

John was hanging out the door, keeping watch. 

Once Dean and his dad had gotten back to the train car, the day had been mostly uneventful. They had each taken a watch for an hour or two, and a few creepers had been shot down in the distance. Other than that, it was quiet. It was hot, but the sun was slowly dipping in the sky now, so they enjoyed the warmth while they could.

It startled Dean more than he cared to admit when John suddenly clapped his hands. “Look alive, people! We got creepers incoming!”

“Shit,” Abaddon said, and Dean could hear the shuffling sounds of her putting out her cigarette before coming around to the front of the car.

Billie stood up from her seat on the floor with a sigh and looked over at Cain. “Cain, be a dear and put on your shoes. We’ve got mutants to kill.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m moving.”

Dean threw the cards in his hands down on the table and looked over at John. “Mother fuck! Again?”

“At least they’re not zombies,” Cas said with a smirk.

They stayed inside the long train car, using it as cover as much as they could as they looked out across the barren land and saw another horde of creepers approaching. They patiently took out as many as they could, and as the ones that were left got closer, Dean realized something wasn’t quite right.

“Dad,” he said. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

John nodded and Dean saw it in the corner of his eye. “Blue and white. That ain’t no fucking creeper.”

The creepers and the blue and white-clad person, who was definitely human, stopped about twenty feet away from the train car. A female voice carried over to them as blue stepped forward and pulled back a hood to reveal a short shock of blonde hair and a long, oval face. The voice from Dean’s dream.

“You Winchesters certainly are difficult to kill, I’ll give you that.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked.

She smiled, but there was no emotion behind it. “I am only here for you, Dean. You know that. Just come with me and the rest of your people walk away unscathed.”

“What do you want with me?”

A laugh. The same cold, dark, brittle sound he’d heard in his dream. “Dean, you know who we are. The archangels dedicated our lives to finding the next step in human evolution. Your mother was a part of that.”

“Stop beating around the bush and answer the fucking question.” 

“Fine. You’re special, Dean. You have a gene that we believe is the key to perfecting the new mutations. We’ve made so much progress without it, but we need you.”

Dean looked over his shoulder at the others and Cain shook his head.

“I don’t care what she says,” the older man said quietly. “She’s not taking you, and I don’t believe she’ll let any of us leave here alive.”

“How ‘bout we just kill you where you stand?” John growled next to Dean.

The woman laughed. “The Archangels will still come for you. They’ll keep coming for you until you’re dead or they are.”

“Let them come, we’ll kill them, too.” Dean let an arrow loose, taking out one of the remaining creepers, and the others followed suit, firing rounds into the group until the woman was the only one left standing.

“You idiots don’t understand what we’re doing,” she said, laughing again. “We’re making a new world. A better world. The scientific advances we’ve made are incredible.” She took off her blue jacket and let it fall to the ground as she started walking toward them. 

And she grew in size as she walked, until she was the size of the thing that had attacked them in the convenience store. But she was different. She still looked human, she was just twice her previous size. And it looked as though parts of her body were armored.

“What the fuck?” Cas asked softly next to Dean.

“That is an affront to the natural order of things if I ever saw one,” Billie said with a grimace.

“No more talking. I’m going to kill all of you. Then I am going to take Dean.” 

With that the group inside the train car opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off the armored parts of the woman’s body, bouncing between her and the metallic walls of the traincar. There were a few spots where it seemed her flesh was pierced, and Dean tried his best to aim for those.

She reached down and Dean watched as the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexed and bulged as she lifted one end of the train car and sent in careening over, throwing the people inside of it in the other walls.

When it came to a stop, Sam was knocked unconscious and Billie’s arm was bent in an unhealthy direction. The rest of them got to their feet and tried their best to climb out of the train car and attacked the woman. Cain swiped at any vulnerable spots he could find with his blade and Dean shot at her with his bow. 

John ducked underneath one of her arms as she swung at him, and yelled up at her. “You’re not so tough, you big bitch!” He swung his shotgun up and unloaded it into her throat. She started looking rough, but she didn’t go down.

Dean snatched the machete out of Abaddon’s hand and ran toward the monstrous woman. Using her knee as a launch point, he pushed off and buried the blade in the wound already made by his father’s gun.

“My mother is dead because of you and your people.” Dean started sawing the blade back and forth. 

She clamped down onto his middle with one hand. It wasn’t big enough to wrap around his whole body, but she squeezed and some of his cracked ribs gave under her grip. 

Dean just kept sawing at her throat until the blade hit bone. She gurgled and blood poured from the wound. The fingers digging into Dean went lax and she toppled over, nearly crushing Dean under her weight.

* * *

They were lucky enough to find another propane powered truck in the next town that was still in mostly working order. They all loaded into it with the equipment and a few extra tanks of fuel in the back.

“So what now?” Cas asked Dean as they rode down the highway in the back seat of the truck. Their fingers were intertwined, hands resting between them on the bench.

Dean just shrugged and smiled. “We know what we’re up against now. Or at least, we have a better idea. So we take the fight to them. We survive. We win.”


End file.
